


carpet burns and carousels

by extasiswings



Series: playground love [8]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Canon Compliant, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Episode: s03e15 Eddie Begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: Buck's used to being left.  He’s used toyou’re not good enoughorit’s not you, it’s meor just straight up silence.  He’s used to loss being a choice, albeit usually someone else’s.  He’s not used to the cloying, icy fear of the night before, the risk of loss just because, no choices made but god’s.His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him out of his heavy, distressed fog.Clean bill of health.  Bobby’s going to take me home.  Meet you there?Eddie.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: playground love [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696435
Comments: 25
Kudos: 449





	carpet burns and carousels

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked for Eddie + praise kink and that is...not really what this ended up being but an attempt was made.

Buck wakes up to hands on his face and a small voice calling his name. 

He startles briefly—blinking, disoriented—but finally focuses on Christopher standing in front of him. And then, it all comes back at once. The well, Eddie being trapped, Eddie asking him to go home, falling asleep in the chair in Christopher’s room while watching him sleep—

There’s a crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair and he rolls his head on his shoulders as he sits up.

“Hey, buddy,” Buck greets quietly, stifling a yawn. Fuck, he’s still exhausted, still feels wrung out and raw from the night before, from wondering if—

_No._ He stops the thought in its tracks. _Eddie’s fine. He’s safe. He’s alive. He’s fine._

“Buck, where’s dad?” Chris asks. There’s worry in his voice and his lip wobbles a little before he bites it—Buck swallows hard, his heart aching, and gets out of the chair to kneel on the floor at the boy’s level. 

Some people think it’s okay to lie to kids if the truth would be difficult or overwhelm unnecessarily, but Buck has never felt comfortable with that. For one thing, kids are smart and can usually tell when they’re being lied to, and the last thing Buck wants is for Christopher to decide that he can’t trust him. For another…well, it’s just polite.

“Your dad is fine,” Buck acknowledges first. 

“He asked me to come over last night and stay here because he had a difficult shift and had to go to the hospital to get checked out—he’s _okay,” he emphasizes. “But he didn’t want you to be alone or worried or scared. He’ll probably be home later this morning.”_

Christopher takes that in solemnly and chews on his lip, staying quiet for a long time. Buck doesn’t try to interrupt the moment—for as much as he had tried to keep his voice light and his words casual, he knows there’s not going to be anything _casual_ to a kid hearing their parent is in the hospital a year after losing their other one. 

“He’s really okay?” Chris asks finally and Buck gives in to the impulse to hug him. 

“Right before he asked me to come over here, he was cracking bad jokes that you would have rolled your eyes at,” Buck replies, the words only a little muffled by Christopher’s hair. “He’s really okay. And he’s gonna stay okay if I have anything to say about it.”

He pulls back and strokes his thumb over Christopher’s cheek. Chris still has a furrow between his brow that shows he’s still skeptical. 

“Hey—I promise,” Buck assures. “It was just a precaution, like—you know how sometimes when you get a cold, your dad will take you to the doctor anyway just in case even though both of you know the doctor is probably only going to tell you to rest and drink a lot of juice? It was like that. He’s okay.”

Christopher bites his lip again, considering—finally, he nods. 

“Okay.”

Buck kisses his forehead and sits back on his heels. “Can you get ready for school for me?”

He holds his breath until Chris nods again—he doesn’t know what he would have done if faced with an argument. His inclination is usually to give Chris whatever he want, especially since the lawsuit, but Eddie hadn’t said _spend the night and then help him ditch school in the morning_ , and that’s not a call Buck can make. 

Buck leaves Chris to get ready for the day, goes through the motions of making breakfast, even if he can’t really taste it. He’s still shaken up himself, fighting the urge to call Bobby and ask how Eddie’s doing—checking his missed texts in the group chat at least gave him enough information to know Bobby had insisted on staying overnight in the hospital—but he pushes all of that down to plaster on a smile for Christopher and get him fed and off to school. 

“Bye, Buck! Love you!” Christopher calls over his shoulder after Buck drops him off. Buck’s breath catches.

“Love you, too, buddy,” he calls back, the words nearly sticking in his throat. 

Kids. It was so easy for Chris to say, it seemed like an afterthought. But the words linger on Buck’s tongue, in his mouth, in his head. 

He meant them. He means them. He loves Eddie and he loves Christopher—maybe he doesn’t have kids, but fuck he thinks he loves Christopher the way he would one of his own—and that’s—

It’s a problem. Because Christopher is _not_ his kid, he’s Eddie’s kid and Eddie almost died and if he had—if he had—

If Eddie had died, Buck doesn’t know what would have happened. Most likely, Chris would have gone to Eddie’s parents or his sisters—family—and that would be right, that would be the way it should be. But Buck _loves_ him and if he lost Eddie and then lost Chris…he just doesn’t know. 

He’s used to being left. He’s used to _you’re not good enough_ or _it’s not you, it’s me_ or just straight up silence. He’s used to loss being a choice, albeit usually someone else’s. He’s not used to the cloying, icy fear of the night before, the risk of loss just because, no choices made but god’s. 

Buck sits in the parking lot for a long time, turning that over in his head, trying to loosen the tightness in his chest at the idea of being abruptly ripped away from Eddie, from Christopher, from the family he’s made for himself. It’s not real. It didn’t happen. So what’s the point in worrying over it? 

_Because it could happen_ , an unhelpful voice whispers from the back of his mind. _On any shift, at any time, it could happen._

His phone buzzes in his pocket, snapping him out of his heavy, distressed fog.

_Clean bill of health. Bobby’s going to take me home. Meet you there?_

Eddie.

_See?_ Buck tells himself. _He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything’s fine._

As he types out a response, he tries to believe that.

* * *

Eddie wakes up in a hospital bed, bright fluorescent lights shining down on him, and wonders why he’s in Germany.

And then he glances to the side, sees a jacket draped across the chair in the corner with _Nash_ embroidered over the chest pocket and he remembers.

He’s not in Germany. He’s not in the army. That was all years ago.

He’s in LA. He almost drowned in a well. He was freezing—

“You’re up.” Bobby walks back in with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks exhausted, face drawn and dark circles under his eyes. Eddie’s stomach twists uncomfortably—he’s not used to people watching over him, and Bobby’s not the youngest guy, he didn’t need to stay—

“How are you feeling?” Bobby asks before Eddie can say anything.

Eddie considers that—he doesn’t remember that many specifics about the night before, mostly recalls vague sensations, frigid water soaking through his clothes, burning in his lungs, fear, despair—

“Warm,” is what he finally settles on. “Better than last night.”

Bobby nods. He sits down heavily into the chair.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Eddie adds. _I’m used to being alone_ , goes unsaid.

Bobby gives him a long look. “Yes, I did,” he replies. “We’re a team—a family. I did.”

Eddie looks away. _The family you choose_ , he thinks absently. 

“Well…thanks.”

A nurse comes in then, and Eddie spends the next hour or so being poked and prodded until finally he’s declared fit for discharge.

“Thought you might want this,” Bobby says, passing over his cell phone and clapping him on the shoulder. “Good thing you left it in the truck. Come on—I’ll take you home.”

Eddie fires off a quick text to Buck before sliding his phone back into his pocket. Home. Yeah, that sounds nice.

His phone buzzes when he and Bobby get in the car. 

_See you soon. Love you._

Buck’s jeep is parked on the street in front of Eddie’s house when Bobby pulls up. 

“I suppose I don’t need to ask if you need anything,” Bobby says, a small smile on his lips as he nods at the jeep. 

Eddie’s face warms. “I think I’ll be okay,” he replies. “You should get home yourself—get some sleep.”

“Take care of yourself, Eddie.”

Eddie gives Bobby a faint smile of his own and slips out of the car. 

“Buck?” He calls when he steps into the house. 

“Eddie?” Buck steps out of the bedroom—and stops. “…hey.”

“Hi.” It feels stupid, but Eddie can’t stop looking at him, can’t stop staring—maybe almost losing everything does that, makes you want to commit the most important things to memory—

“I got Chris off to school,” Buck says. He takes a step, then stops again, as if he’s unsure whether he should. “He’s okay—worried about you—but okay. I wasn’t sure if—well, I thought you would want him to have a normal day.”

“No—yeah,” Eddie agrees, even though part of him wants nothing more than to hold his son. But there will be time for that later. “That was good. Thank you—for doing that, for staying with him. I—thank you.”

“What do you need?” Buck asks. “Have you eaten? I could make something, or—”

_God, I love you_ , Eddie thinks fiercely, and he’s crossing the room and tugging Buck in to kiss him before he can think of any reason not to.

“I don’t need anything,” he says quietly when he pulls back. “Except maybe a shower…and to sleep in my own bed. With you. If—if that’s—I mean, I’m sure you probably have things to do today—”

“No,” Buck interrupts. “No, I—I’ll stay. Of course I’ll stay.” 

Eddie showers quickly, and alone, turning the water as hot as it can go, until his skin is all but scalded and steam fills the bathroom. When he gets out, there’s a pair of clean sweatpants folded and waiting on top of the hamper. He towels off and tugs them on—then, he walks into his room and collapses on the bed next to Buck. 

Buck slowly wraps an arm around his waist—Eddie curls in, tucks his face against Buck’s neck, and breathes. This close, he doesn’t miss anything, catches the way Buck’s own breathing hitches, the faint tension in the halting, hesitant way he touches him. Eddie swallows, feeling the ghost of ice in his veins. He could avoid it, let it go, but—

“Are you mad at me?” He asks quietly, and Buck’s hands still completely. 

“What?”

“For cutting the line,” he clarifies. He wets his lips. “It’s—I would understand if—”

“I’m not mad,” Buck interrupts and Eddie pulls back enough to look at his face. “I’m not—it was reckless, yeah, and I wasn’t thrilled about it, but…I probably would have done the same thing.”

Eddie waits. Buck sighs and closes his eyes, dragging one hand over his face as his other settles back on Eddie’s side, fingers ghosting a careful circuit over his skin. 

“I was _scared_ ,” Buck says. “I thought—I thought I lost you. And there wasn’t anything I could do, no one would _let_ me do anything, and I thought—you didn’t seem entirely like yourself when you went down and I noticed and I was worried, but I let you go anyway. I just—I was scared. Maybe I still am a little bit.” 

_I’m fine_ , Eddie goes to say, only to stop himself. Because…is he? He’s alive, certainly. But if he’s honest, Buck is right. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t even really present, he was stuck in his head, trapped in old history, the sound of gunshots in his head and the smell of a burning helicopter in his nose. He wasn’t okay. Not then. And maybe not now either. 

He’s not. Fine. 

He’s heard that you’re supposed to talk about it. He’s never really been good at that, too many years of his dad’s voice in his ear telling him to suck it up and move on. 

But.

He can’t lose this. And he can’t lie. So maybe he can try…being open.

“I almost died last night,” he says. 

Buck shivers. “I know.”

“It’s—” Eddie closes his eyes. “It wasn’t the first time.” 

“Eddie, you don’t—” Buck starts, but Eddie shakes his head.

“I think I do, actually,” he replies. “I—you asked yesterday about my medal. And you’re right, it’s not a story appropriate for kids, but…I still think about it. Dream about it. I did the other night, and then yesterday I was—I was stuck down there and I might as well have been right back in Afghanistan.”

Buck rolls onto his side, shifting Eddie as well. He slings an arm across Eddie’s waist and pulls him back flush against his chest. His lips press briefly to Eddie’s jaw. 

“Well…if you want to tell me…I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

And in his arms, being held so close, Eddie can almost believe it.

“It was just supposed to be a simple medical transport…”

It’s funny—once he starts, he can’t stop, the whole tale pouring out of him. He’s ripped off the bandaid, thrown open the curtains, and he falters at times wondering what Buck is hearing, what he makes of Eddie’s shadows, the guilt that still lingers, the blood on his hands—

But Buck hadn’t lied. He stays the whole time. He pulls Eddie closer instead of pushing him away. 

He stays. 

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Buck says quietly, breaking the silence that falls after Eddie finishes. “You saved all those people, just like you saved that little boy last night, just like you do every day we go to work. You lost one—you weren’t responsible for that. That’s on the people who killed him and god. You did the best you could. You did good. You always do.”

He punctuates the sentiment with a kiss to Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s eyes burn. He almost wants to twist away, to pull the covers up over his head so he doesn’t feel quite so exposed. He’s at war with himself in a way—caught between wanting to hear Buck say that over and over until he believes it and wanting the familiarity of disbelief. 

Apparently Eddie’s silence speaks volumes, because Buck shifts again and Eddie allows himself to be rolled onto his back as Buck props himself up on one elbow to look at him.

“You do,” Buck repeats. “Eddie—you’re one of the best people I know. You’re good and kind and you care about people and you’re an amazing dad—Christopher loves you so much and if you hadn’t come home from war he would have been worse off for it, trust me. We can’t save everyone—it’s the nature of the job and it’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s true. We can’t. And you couldn’t in the army either. Don’t put that on yourself.”

Eddie swallows hard. “I’m a mess,” he admits. “My head is just—I don’t know.”

“Of course it is,” Buck replies. “You went through something terrible and you lived. I got trapped a ladder truck—and I lived. You think I’m not a mess sometimes? Because I can tell you, I get it. Maybe not the specifics, but—I do.”

Buck leans over and presses a kiss to the scar on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s breath catches. 

“I love you,” Buck says. And Eddie—he slides a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and tugs him down to kiss him properly. 

He hadn’t planned on anything other than sleep, he really hadn’t. But his tongue slides against Buck’s and his hands slip down to Buck’s hips, dragging Buck on top of him and it’s—he wants—he _needs_ it. Needs to be grounded, held, weighed down. He’s used to the reverse—to being in charge, teasing and touching and enjoying driving Buck up the wall—but in the moment he feels like this is what he wants more. 

Buck nips his lower lip. After the briefest moment of hesitation, he takes Eddie’s wrists and pins them to the pillow above his head. 

“Is this—?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, his eyes falling closed as his head tips back to give Buck greater access to his neck. “Yeah, it’s—please.”

Buck settles more of his weight on him and Eddie shivers, feeling anchored.

“Love you,” Buck murmurs. He presses his mouth to Eddie’s shoulder again before continuing down his body. “You’re always so good to me, so good _for_ me—”

He rolls his hips against Eddie’s, a dirty drag of friction that lights Eddie’s nerves up, makes him feel electric. 

“Fuck.” Eddie rocks up, seeking more friction, and Buck kisses him again as he grinds down. “Buck—can I—”

“You can have whatever you want,” Buck replies. He releases one of Eddie’s wrists to bring his hand down and slip it under Eddie’s waistband. When his fingers wrap around Eddie’s cock, Eddie inhales sharply. 

_I thought I was never going to touch you again_ , Eddie thinks absently before Buck licks into his mouth. _I thought I would never—_

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Buck knows exactly how to touch him, exactly what to do to make him shudder and shake and gasp. Eddie’s mind blanks out as he gives over to sensation, to the heat and friction of Buck’s hand, the slick slide of his mouth. He doesn’t care about the orgasm really—in fact, when he comes it almost catches him by surprise—he just wants to be close to Buck, as close as possible. The night before he was so cold, and now he’s far from it, warm and soothed. It takes a moment to catch his breath, but then he rolls them over and puts his mouth on every inch of Buck to return the favor.

After, they tangle together, loose-limbed and sated, and Eddie presses as close as he can get. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, even as sleep starts to tug him under. “I’m not—I’m not leaving. You can count on that.”

Buck’s oddly still at that. But after a moment, Eddie feels the press of lips to the top of his head. 

“I love you, too.”

It’s the last thing Eddie hears before he falls asleep.


End file.
